Chicago Illinios: Another Shiny Toy
by American Companion
Summary: The Doctor lands in 21st century Chicago. Plans of pizza are soon eclipsed by the search for the illusive Mr. Snow, an alien leading the economic takeover of planet Earth. Unfortunately, the only way to find Mr. Snow is through Penelope Starling, the most efficient, professional P.A. the planet has ever produced...and the Doctor does NOT fit into her schedule.
1. Chapter 1

_Vworp, vworp, vworp, vworp._

The Doctor stuck his head out of the TARDIS door, inhaling deeply and grinning. He'd landed correctly. Always a good sign. And it was the…21st century? Tasted like it. USA, Mid-west someplace. Chicago, Illinois judging by the particular tang of the air and the wind.

"Been awhile," he muttered to himself. "Last time I was here I was carrying an umbrella and Ace was helping me sell bootleg liquor. Al Capone wasn't terribly pleasant as I recall. And then there was that other thing I had to take care of…Oh, and my trip…" The Doctor hurriedly consulted his watch, relieved that it was 2012 rather than 2006. Couldn't go running into his first regeneration. Crisscrossing timelines and all that.

Out of habit, he glanced behind him into the TARDIS, about to call to his friends before remembering that he'd just left Amy and Rory tucked away in a house elsewhere on Earth, finally living like a married couple should.

The loneliness dissipated as another smell drifted past his nose, causing him to smile.

"Pizza! Been awhile. Wonder how many toppings you're allowed…"

Locking the TARDIS he made a beeline for the neon sign that read _Uno Chicago Grill_, a place he knew to be the home of the Chicago deep-dish. Didn't think much of the name change, but hey. As long as the food was good, they could call it whatever they wanted.

The Doctor was almost there when he saw someone—he was almost positive it was a woman—disappear into an alleyway. Normally he wouldn't pay as much attention, but he recognized a perception filter when he saw…through one.

Running past the open door and the tempting smells of _Uno Chicago Grill_, the Doctor was already reaching for his sonic as he dodged around people and whirled into the alley in time to see a young woman struggling with a tall humanoid in tight blue armor, a helmet the shape of bird's head on top. Light came through chinks in the armor, instantly telling the Doctor who it was.

The problem of why would have to wait. Right now, the woman needed help.

"Stop!" he called authoritatively, flourishing the sonic like a wand as it whirred…not quite menacingly, but hopefully convincingly. "Release her, now!"

Both struggling people looked at him at once. The woman seemed confused, but he could have sworn the attacking extra-terrestrial narrowed whatever it called eyes before letting go of the woman and using a personal transporting device to vanish.

The Doctor wasted no time staring at the spot before turning off the sonic and turning to the woman. He grabbed her shoulders gently and helped her to steady herself.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm quite alright," the woman said as she waved him off. Her voice carried a slight accent, but one that belonged to the area. She began brushing off her gray business jacket then looked at her hands in mild disgust. In the dim light the Doctor saw a sticky coating on her hands.

"I hope this isn't snot," the woman said. "I refuse to get sick."

The Doctor scanned her with the sonic and flicked it open with a snap of the wrist, checking it.

"No snot, just a mild numbing agent. Enough of it and you'd stop struggling. Good thing you were wearing long sleeves."

"I always wear long sleeves."

"Even in summer?"

"Most buildings I'm in have air conditioning," she said with mild disdain. The Doctor got the feeling that she felt a lot more than she was willing to express. Whatever she did for a living required no emotions. She looked him up and down pointedly.

"At least my attire is a bit more suited to the times than yours. My grandfather wore bow-ties and tweed, but you are hardly ninety."

"Can't disagree with you on that," the Doctor said, deciding it best not to mention his real age of 908. The woman ignored him and glanced around, soon locating her bag. After picking it up again, she straightened, looking exceedingly professional, particularly since she had produced a pair of sharp glasses from her bag and put them on.

"Thank you for your assistance sir. If you'll excuse me…"

The Doctor, ever one to ignore manners, did not. "Has anyone else tried attacking you before?"

"I've had a few…followers, but pepper spray usually deterred them."

The Doctor didn't doubt the statement. Her figure and simple but pleasant face would easily make her a target for less than scrupulous types. "But no one's actually attacked you before?"

"I can't see that it would matter much to you, but no," she snipped, checking her watch. It looked expensive, yet tasteful. This woman either had a very good job or a very attentive boss. Maybe both looking at the designer handbag, tailored clothes, and manicured nails.

"What about interested parties?" the Doctor pressed. "Has anyone approached you recently?"

The woman smiled vaguely at some private joke, even as she started to edge around the Doctor to the entrance of the alley. "I see many people in my line of work, and many, many interested parties pass in front of me daily. I even speak to some of them."

"Friendly type, aren't you?"

"Friend is a nice word for a co-worker, Mr..."

"Sorry, I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said cheerfully. "And you are…"

She blinked at him, reminding him of a cat. Except the woman had brown eyes. "Doctor is a position, not a name."

"You couldn't pronounce my name."

"I may not be English, but my English is far better than that of most I meet, Dr. Jones."

"Not Smith?"

"While Smith is the most common surname in England, Jones is a close second."

The Doctor gave his usual half smile. "Then what's my first name?"

"Guessing your age to be near thirty, you would have been born in the early 80's. The most common boy's name was Michael. You refuse to give me your true name, so I must presume your name to be Michael Jones until you provide evidence to the contrary."

The woman was now standing in the entrance of the alleyway, having managed to maneuver around the Doctor without really seeming to move.

"I really must go Dr. Jones. Again, thank you for your assistance."

"I never did get your name," the Doctor said as she turned to go. She said something over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

"Persephone Sterling. Not very common. Still, I don't suppose she is either," the Doctor mused. "I'd like a longer chat with her. Don't think I'd get one without an appointment though."

Turning back around the Doctor re-scanned the area, not really expecting to find anything new. "Why are the Drast here?" he wondered aloud to himself. "They work by economic take-over. You think they'd start someplace with a stable economy."

He rubbed his forehead as the memory came back. "No. No they did. Japan, the Year that Never Was! The timeline was fixed and they were put back right where they'd started. Oh, why didn't I remember to check on that sooner? No telling how far they've gotten by now."

He straightened, all thoughts of pizza forgotten. "I need to find out who's at the top of the business food chain here. If anyone knows about this, they will."

* * *

Andrew Lessman was the C.E.O of _World Maps Inc._ It was a sizable business, with its headquarters residing in Chicago while holding several other hubs in different large cities, including a few overseas. All in all, Andrew Lessman was very wealthy.

The door to his office swung open and he focused on finishing writing something, certain of who it was. It was another Tuesday morning. It would be his Personal Assistant with his coffee, and she would likely remind him about ten things and three meetings that needed to be done today. He'd think of a few things before the day was out as well. Still, it was life, and he enjoyed keeping busy.

"Hello, hate to bother you but I really need to speak with a Mr. Andrew Lessman. Is that you?"

Mr. Lessman looked up at the sound of the English accent and was greeted by a square jawed man with floppy dark hair and bowtie. Definitely not his P.A.

"I am he," Mr. Lessman said slowly, unsure how this character had managed to get past everyone with no appointment and no forewarning. He'd have to ask his assistant about this when she arrived.

"I'm John Smith," the English man said, ignoring propriety and taking the chair on the opposite side of the desk from Mr. Lessman. Reaching into his tweed coat he produced a thin wallet, flashing its contents at Mr. Lessman. He barely caught sight of the words "Press" and "Chicago Tribune" before the card disappeared into the man's coat again.

Mr. Lessman looked at John Smith for a moment. Something had to be up; if this was a normal interview, then his assistant would have told him about it days ago and would have found a list of the questions ahead of time. "What new piece is your paper working on?"

"We're trying to write up several sections on the rise of the great business men and women of our time," Mr. Smith responded smoothly. "We're doing our best to go in order of monetary holdings."

_Ah._ Mr. Lessman thought. _That's why this wasn't planned ahead of time._

"I was hoping you could let me know how to contact Mr. Snow."

"You don't find Mr. Snow," Mr. Lessman said, certain this was some kind of test, though why he was being tested he wasn't sure. "Mr. Snow will find you, Mr. Smith. You just have to put out the word you're looking for him."

"But Mr. Snow owns half of the companies based here in Chicago," Mr. Smith pressed. "And you're the one he seems to have the most contact with. You must know something."

"Mr. Snow is a very, very private person," Mr. Lessman said tightly. "It's true he is extremely wealthy and intelligent. He picks his C.E.O.s with caution, and those of us who get a spot are always—I can say this truthfully and without boasting—the best. Anyone stupid enough to not accept his offer of a merger doesn't deserve to run a taco stand, much less a company. The one who did refuse truly does own a hot dog stand, if you wish to meet him."

"But I need to speak with Mr. Snow as soon as possible."

"You might—_might_—merit a phone call." Mr. Lessman reached for his buzzer, intending to have the pushy reporter removed.

"You don't understand," Mr. Smith insisted. "There's something huge going on, and I have to get his help on it."

"What could a reporter possibly know that Mr. Snow wouldn't?"

"I'm—" Mr. Smith started. Then he seemed to change his mind about whatever it was he was going to share. He inspected Mr. Lessman for a long moment before standing. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I don't think you can help me."

"Very true Mr. Smith."

The English man disappeared through the door not five seconds before Mr. Lessman's P.A. came in, carrying a take-away coffee cup in her hand. She set it down on his desk before producing a planner from her bag and flipping to a page. She didn't look particularly confused, but Mr. Lessman had worked with the woman long enough to read what little emotion she deigned to reveal.

"A Mr. Smith asking about Mr. Snow. He said he was from the "Tribune," but I don't quite believe him."

She nodded and slid the book back into her bag before producing another, larger one. "Your first meeting is at ten about the new GPS Software. Usual update, but they also wanted to start asking about the official release in order to be better prepared for it than the last time. You have a lunch set up with Charles F. Bolden, Jr., the administrator of NASA. Mr. Snow is trying to get in on the space program and needs you to do the initial representation for him. The basic technology for funding swap."

Mr. Lessman nodded a little absently. "Good. When is the next meeting with Mr. Snow?"

She turned a few pages. "I have it down for next Monday, first thing. Is it in the usual room?"

"Yes. Make sure the phone lines are secure before he calls. I have no intention of being fired like the last man."

The woman turned back to today's page. "That reminds me, you have a dinner with your wife at six this evening."

Mr. Lessman looked at her oddly. "For being so uptight, you have an unusual sense of humor, Penelope Starling."

She smiled ever so slightly. "Comes with the territory sir."

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor was two blocks away before he realized that he had seen the woman he passed in the hallway before.

"Persephone Sterling! She must work for Lessman." He paused midstride, remembering. "Hot drink in hand, bag, dressed well. She's his P.A woman. She might know something more about Mr. Snow than Lessman was willing to reveal. Including where I could meet him…"

The Doctor continued back to the TARDIS, musing. After using the TARDIS to do a search on local business men, he'd found that the mysterious Mr. Snow owned many of the companies, and had his fingers in even more, and he was in no way restricted by the Chicago city limits. With factories and office buildings in multiple countries and states, Mr. Snow was a big man.

However, he seemed to relish privacy, because there were no pictures of him in any records, though there had been a birth certificate and a very basic genealogy on record at a hospital, along with fingerprints and a DNA sample.

Despite owning the companies, the Doctor hadn't known how involved Mr. Snow really was. Judging by his conversation with Andrew Lessman though, Mr. Snow was very involved, if distant. Definitely the local business guru.

The Doctor was convinced Mr. Snow was a Drast. Records of stocks purchased, companies merged, and other take-overs were trademark signs the Drast had been at work. He had to admit, of all the ways aliens tried to conquer Earth, he liked the Drast's methods the best, if only for the reason people almost never died. And they were efficient and careful. It also made them very, very hard to remove.

"Unless I go through someone already on the inside, like dear Persephone," the Doctor said, ducking into the TARDIS and dashing round to the view screen, entering the information he knew on her. He didn't want to show up at her office building again; Mr. Lessman might not accept his presence, and the Doctor didn't know how much Mr. Lessman knew about the situation. Persephone wasn't in it yet, but had to hold future significance if that Drast last night was trying to kidnap her. To what end the Doctor didn't know yet, but he soon would.

When the TARDIS gave a flat beep, he frowned, puzzled. Persephone Sterling didn't exist. No pictures, no records, nothing.

"That's odd," the Doctor mused. "Not even a résumé or a paycheck. Even if she's faking it, there would be something…"

The Doctor pulled out his memory of when he'd met Persephone. Yeah, she was definitely the woman he'd seen going into Lessman's office. Had she given him the wrong name on purpose, hoping he wouldn't follow? She must have.

"Woman like that would have a very specific false name," he mused. "Something horribly probable. The singularity of the name makes it impossible for someone to miss, but she'd have a safety net attached in case someone really wanted to hunt her down. Maybe a name that sounds like Persephone Sterling. Then if they did find her she could play the political side and say that they misheard her. Unless I really did, which would be terribly embarrassing."

Entering his new supposition into the TARDIS database, a profile came up instantly, with everything he'd ever want to know about—

"Penelope Starling. Sounds like someone from an Agatha Christie novel. Definitely her though. Certainly her picture. Well then Penny. Let's find out who you are." Setting the slides to go by at his incredibly fast reading pace, he stared at the screen, eyebrows rising higher the more he found out about the woman he'd saved.

"Oh," he said quietly when he was done, decently impressed. "That's who you are."

* * *

Penelope saw Mr. Lessman safely ensconced in his car before heading back into the building and her office where her black overcoat was draped across the rolling chair. She'd likely be with Mr. Lessman if this was a business dinner, but when he was going to be with Mrs. Lessman, she stayed behind. Mrs. Lessman didn't allow work to travel home with her husband, something Mr. Lessman was only too happy to agree to. Secretly, Penelope was overjoyed as well, because it meant she had a general time that she could stop working, usually an hour after Mr. Lessman went home if it was a good night.

She flipped through the many notes she'd taken that day. Tonight didn't look like a good one though. Maybe two hours after she got home. She'd have to order in, unlike last night when she'd had a meeting in another restaurant near _Uno Chicago Grill_. She'd been returning to her car when she was grabbed.

Putting her coat on over her work clothes she picked up her large purse and turned off the light in her office. There were always people working in the building, even on this floor, but none she needed to speak to or take notice of. It didn't fit in with her schedule.

Penelope Starling was a woman who was, to put it lightly, extremely efficient and overly organized. She prided herself of being able to manage several lives at once, and make all of it work perfectly. Nothing entered her schedule or her life without her say so, and nothing was permitted to interfere with anything she put in the Notebooks, as her co-workers called the several planners she carried. Life rolled to schedule, or it didn't roll at all.

Penelope stepped into the elevator, which was empty as it usually was at this time of day, and pressed the button for the parking garage.

Her exactness alone didn't make her good—no, the very best—at her job. Equipped with a mind she had trained to remember everything and piece every fact together like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, she didn't really need to write things down to know what was supposed to happen. The planners were for appearance sake. Penelope was always certain to keep up on events around the globe, from fashion to politics to everything in-between.

Even this didn't make her _the _Penelope Starling. She'd braved a lot, taken risks, and put her name on the line time and again in years previous, but even at the relatively young age of thirty years Penelope knew the names of everyone who was anyone, and was on a first name basis with most of them. She was well connected enough that she chose the people she worked for, not the other way around, and could request almost any salary, though she was kind enough to keep it reasonable.

Once you factored in the time she labeled 'professional upkeep,' which included a weekly massage, a monthly mud bath, daily exercise, and a visit to the salon every two weeks, it was an exhausting life. Still, Penelope was proud of where she was, and intended to keep it that way.

As she exited the elevator and made her way over to her 2012 dark blue Roadster, she spared a moment to think about the mysterious Mr. Snow. If Penelope ever met the man, she thought vaguely, he'd likely be the only man she'd consider marrying: private, successful, and in control.

She reached into her purse for her keys and happened to look at the window of the car near her, catching sight of someone walking up behind her.

_Another one_ she thought with irritation. First that strange metallic man yesterday and her even stranger rescuer, and now…what? A mugger? Likely.

Pretending she'd never seen the figure, she released her keys and located her can of pepper spray, expertly popping the top off and situating it in her hand for a quick draw.

Penelope continued to fiddle with her purse as she stood by her car, watching the person come steadily nearer in the reflection from the window. Soon, they were close enough.

_One, two,_

Turning sharply around Penelope let loose with the spray, catching her assailant square in the eyes. He let out an absurdly feminine shriek of pain and covered his face, turning away. Penelope still recognized him; she'd only come across one person with such an ancient dress code.

"Dr. Michael Jones," she greeted him, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

"What did you do that for?" the self-named Doctor shouted at her, eyes watering furiously as his face started to turn red.

"You were following me. I don't appreciate it."

"You could have said something first!"

"What do you want?"

The Doctor kept his head down, trying not to rub at his eyes. "I need to talk to you."

"I can give you ten minutes on Friday of next week."

"No! It's too important. I have to speak to you now. It's about Mr. Snow."

"If you're trying to find him—"

"I don't think he's real," the Doctor said in a rush.

Penelope blinked, silent for a moment. "That's not possible. I think you're deranged. Please don't bother me again."

"No, I don't mean he's not real, he's just not him!"

Penelope ignored him, instead pressing the button on her keychain to unlock her car. As soon as she did there was a sharp whine and the door clicked shut again.

"What?" she exclaimed, turning back to the Doctor. "Did you do something to my car?" She looked at the strange green flashlight in his hand. "What is that thing?"

The Doctor, now extremely red faced and eyes still streaming, tried vainly to face Penelope. "Penny, I need your help—"

"My name is Penelope Starling, not Penny."

"Penny, I need your help, but first I need you to listen to me. Five minutes. Please."

Penelope looked at the annoying man. She'd sprayed him, and he was still here, so he wasn't trying to attack her. And she did owe him for helping her out last night…

"You have one minute, only for your assistance last night."

"Your planet is being overrun by an alien race called the Drast. They work by economic takeover. It started in Japan years ago, but now they've gotten to America. One of them attacked you last night so they have to consider you important. I think Mr. Snow is one of them, and I need your help to find him and stop him before he owns every company in the States."

Penelope gave him a calm look that mimicked the boredom of a cat. "I think you're mad. I'm on a schedule that you have already set askew. I strongly suggest that from now on you leave me alone and check yourself into a sanitarium." She unlocked her car, manually this time, and got in. "Good evening Dr. Jones."

* * *

The Doctor didn't bother to watch her drive off. He was too busy trying to find the way out of the parking garage. He needed to wash his face of the pepper spray before figuring out what came next.

After his face no longer looked like an over-ripe tomato and his eyes stopped watering like an over-zealous gardener, the Doctor was able to think clearly again.

"That could have gone better. Note to self: never creep up behind her again. But I'm still certain I need her help. Penny's got connections all over the place, so she has to have some way to get to Mr. Snow, or at least find him. He has to be a Drast! Or a group of them, that's possible too."

He scratched the back of his head. "But why are they up here so fast? It takes generations for them to move over that much land. Unless they found a way to make use of the current economic crises." The Doctor shrugged with his eyebrows. "It's possible. I've never been very good at business, and they might have sent a group up here. They're still down in Japan, that's for certain. But if I can get them out of this city, that'll slow them down, if not get rid of them. Once detected they'll leave, if past behavior is any indication."

The Doctor gave a sigh of irritation. "That still requires me to find Mr. Snow. I have to meet them head on, like…like business men. I don't know; I've never had to face a Drast. They hardly ever wave guns at people, everything has to be done in meetings. I hate meetings. Another reason I need Penny Starling. She'll have an idea of what to do, can always give me pointers."

This time the sigh was tired, resigned. "Which means I have to get her to listen to me and believe me. That means I need to get creative."

He frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder what route she takes to work in the morning…"

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday started as Wednesday's do: up at five, an hour down at a gym, and home by 6:15. A simple, healthy breakfast of wheat bread with almond butter and cream cheese, a glass of 2% milk and a glass of orange juice, and then an hour of listening to the BBC World Service Radio (American news services were so unreliable) while she dressed. She would use her car's satellite radio to collect the highlights of what America considered important that day, and she'd be good to go. She'd pick up her boss's coffee as she always did, and be at work by 8:03, just as Mr. Lessman was sitting down and had his own papers set.

Penelope loved system, and people who upset hers were incredibly irritating. She was glad that Michael Jones, the Doctor—or whoever he really was—seemed to have gotten the message last night.

The Roadster started with its usual purr and she pulled smoothly out of the parking lot.

Penelope had just retrieved Mr. Lessman's coffee and was only a few blocks from the office building when a warning sign caused her to stop. Odd. There'd been no mention of road work in this area, and yet here it was. Usually on city streets they tried to stop work during the morning rush hour, but cars were backed up here.

Irritating, but not irrevocable. She had alternate routes, but first Penelope tilted her head to see if one of the flashing signs displayed the dates that the work would be continuing through.

The screen flashed just as she looked at it, the message changing.

**Pnny: I wnt 2 tlk. Cffe?**

Penelope blinked once and took a slightly deeper breath than usual. She looked at the man in the tweed coat nearby and carefully mouthed, "I don't drink coffee," before cautiously performing a U-turn. She was still at work by 8:03.

* * *

Returning to the office after her lunch hour, Penelope noticed the confused whispers and pointing hands of the people around her. Looking in the indicated direction turned her gaze to the display that usually held a continuously running line of the latest news. Now it held steady, showing the same message.

**Penny: I need to talk to you. Pizza at 6?**

She continued on, refusing to acknowledge the message by looking at the peculiarly dressed sender standing in the corner.

* * *

Penelope was working at her computer, taking calls, making more of them, canceling and setting up meetings, writing form letters, researching a new computer chip that a few scientists in Japan had created, keeping up her personal connections, and in general doing her job and doing it well.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

She kept working.

_Tap. Ta-tap. Ta-ta-tap._

Using her peripheral vision, she looked carefully at her window.

That idiot was there again, waving at her to get her attention while standing on a window cleaner's scaffold. Would he never leave her alone?

Removing her hand from her mouse she calmly pushed the button to close the shades. Dr. Jones crouched down, looking rather comical as he tried to plead his case before the blinds cut him off completely. If he wasn't so irritating, she might have laughed.

"Penelope? Who was that?"

She looked up at her co-worker Susan, who had peaked in from the door into the hallway. "A distraction," Penelope calmly responded.

"Something I can get one of the security guards to take of?"

"No, but thank you for the offer," Penelope answered before taking her report in to Mr. Lessman.

* * *

Penelope's phone buzzed again. She barely glanced at it before deleting the text unopened. Though she had no idea was a TARDIS was or why it would be sending her messages, after reading the first one she'd known it was Dr. Jones. She'd have to do something about him. He was really starting to make a bother of himself.

* * *

Penelope came back up the stairs, thankful she always had an excuse to return. Oh, she knew who'd done it. Did he think she wouldn't notice? Something as obvious as that? Not on your life.

"Everything alright Penelope?"

Penelope was about to say no, then turned to look at Susan.

"Susan, I wonder if you could help me with something."

* * *

The Doctor glanced at his watch again. She should have been here by now; everything he'd researched on her had screamed "control freak" and "OCD" at him. Penelope ate, drank, and slept schedule and order. Had he flunked on the set up?

Ah, no, here was her car. And the wheel was wobbling, just as it should have. Oh, a few carefully loosened lug-nuts on a car could work wonders.

The car pulled over to the side of the road and he immediately trotted over to the passenger window, tapping politely on the glass.

Hesitation, then Penelope must have decided the area had enough people to risk it. After all, it was Chicago. The window rolled down as the Doctor put on his most winning grin.

It fell instantly.

"Where's Penny?"

"Penny?" the blond in the driver's seat questioned. "You mean Penelope Starling? She had an unexpected call from Mr. Lessman, said something came up. She offered to let me use her car tonight. I'm meeting up with my sister-in-law." The woman gasped in recognition. "You're the man that was outside her window, aren't you! The one pretending to be the window cleaner."

"Yes, hello, I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said, smiling. Penelope must have noticed the loosened lug-nuts, canny woman. "Ah, couldn't help noticing the tire's gone off."

The blond winked cheekily at him. "And I'll bet you're the one who set it up. Well fix it and get in, and I'll see if I can't help."

The Doctor frowned in confusion. "I thought you were meeting your sister-in-law."

"The witch can go screw herself for all I care! I never did like her, and you'll make it up for me."

Still mildly perplexed, the Doctor did as instructed, the blond smiling like a child on Christmas morning.

"I'm Susan Delmont," the woman introduced herself as she pulled back into traffic. "I hope you like Chicago deep-dish."

"Love it," the Doctor replied, "but why?"

"Because, my dear man," Susan said, sounding very much as if she meant it, "we've had betting pools on this at the office, and I'm going to claim that jack-pot if it kills you."

"Come again?"

* * *

"What have you done so far? Trying to get her attention I mean."

The Doctor re-iterated his efforts and Susan tsked in disappointment. "Really," she said. "You have got to be more innovative than that. Penelope's seen every stunt in the book. You have to be really creative to stand out and break through to her."

"I don't follow you."

Susan gave the Doctor a look. "It's obvious what you're trying to do."

The Doctor's expression was still blank. Susan sighed. "You're not the first man to try and get her on a date. Penelope's hot stuff! Sure, she's Ice Queen of the Antarctic, and she's thirty, but guys have been trying to snatch her for at least a decade. It's been a year since the last poor soul gave it a shot, but I think you might actually have a chance at getting her out to dinner."

The Doctor's mind processed this new, incredibly wrong, information. "No, I'm not trying to get her on a date. I need to get to Mr. Snow, and Miss Starling seems like the best way to do that, considering her connections."

Susan shrugged. "Alright, you can pretend. I'll play along. Why do you need to see Mr. Snow?"

"It's complicated. Extremely so, but very important."

"If it's that important, I'll tell you what I know about Mr. Snow, which is as much as anybody else knows," Susan said, sounding a bit bored. "Until about…I want to say eight or nine years ago, no one had ever heard of Mr. Snow. Then, out of the blue, he bought some small company that was about to go bankrupt. I don't even remember what the company did, but he managed to get it back on its feet. From there, he started buying more companies, until he had a piece in almost every industry. Only those of us in the companies he owns noticed, but from there he started influencing who ran his companies."

"And none of this raised a red flag?" the Doctor asked. Susan shook her head.

"No, and why would it? Everyone's trying to become a business tycoon, Mr. Snow just made it. And if anything, the businesses he bought always did better after he bought them."

"What's he look like?"

Susan smiled. "See, that's what makes Mr. Snow such a hot topic. There aren't any pictures of the man. Whenever he contacts his people, it's always with intermediaries, or a phone conference with all his C.E.O.s. Actually, I think that there's supposed to be one on Monday. Anyway, he doesn't even allow secretaries to sit in on the talks. Just the C.E.O.s."

"How would he know that someone else was in the room if he's not there?"

The smile became secretive. "Precisely." Susan's expression changed as she leaned forward, obviously not considering the current subject interesting. "Now, about Penelope…"

The Doctor, much as it bothered him, decided to play along with Susan's assumptions. He'd likely get more help from her that way.

"Alright, you've caught me," he said conspiratorially. "What do you suggest?"

Susan smiled. "I'll help you out, but I want to know what you're doing beforehand. The office already has some bets going on at what your next trick is going to be, and I want to know ahead of time the what, when, and where."

"From the horse's mouth, as it were."

"Yes. In return I'll help you out in any way you require: suggestions, I'll make deliveries, let you know her reactions, point you to the best people to buy things from, whatever you need. I just want the hot tips."

"Alright," the Doctor agreed. Susan was a co-worker; she might be able to help, and it could do no harm. "What sort of ploy did you have in mind?"

Susan grinned at him.

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	4. Chapter 4

When Penelope arrived at the office on Thursday morning, she could tell that something was up. Her co-workers kept shooting looks her way, and they stopped talking when she came into ear shot, then resumed their whispers as she got farther away. Some of them had half grins plastered on their faces, as though they were waiting for some big surprise.

After the usual check-in with Mr. Lessman, Penelope stepped into her office to find a package on her desk. It was odd, because she made certain to never have things delivered to her desk. There wasn't even a proper return address on it, just a phone number that was like none she'd ever seen before, having eight numbers, one of which was an infinity symbol.

Shooting a glance out at her co-workers caused them all to look back down at their desks. Penelope closed the door to afford herself some privacy. Whatever this thing was, it would likely be embarrassing.

Pulling out her scissors and opening them, she used one side like a knife to cut the tape and open the box. Reaching in past the packing peanuts she produced…

A small, blue box. Judging by the words around the top, it was a model of a "Police Call Box." Penelope had seen one once, on a business trip to London. It was obviously from Dr. Jones, a not-so-subtle hint for her to call.

What made the knick-knack interesting though, and very, very nearly worth keeping, was the way that it kept fading in and out, as though it wasn't sure whether or not it ought to exist, and in time with the disappearing act was a noise that—if she'd been a person of fancy—Penelope would have described as that of a machine breathing. Being Penelope Starling however, it sounded more like a razor being scraped along a piano wire.

She debated keeping it for a full five seconds before opening her office door. "Janet," she said to a nearby woman. "Does your cousin still collect oddities?"

* * *

Susan glanced at the clock, keeping her smile well hidden. It was nearly lunch, and also time for the next trick the Doctor would send. She had no idea how the people would react to it, or really what to expect. The Doctor had only told her enough to insure her winnings for that round. Whatever happened, some people would go home a little richer, and others with empty pockets.

Penelope had thrown out the last gift: a compact that was really a holographic image of the Doctor trying to explain himself. She probably would have sent it away to a reverse engineer if her pride wasn't on the line. Susan couldn't understand why the woman was so…stuck up. If a good looking English guy like the Doctor asked Susan out, she'd accept in a heartbeat.

The elevator gave a small ding and opened. Susan turned, and could do little but stare at what came out.

The thing resembled an upside down trashcan, its body made of panels, what could be considered the head a half sphere. Two ear-like lights sat on top of the head, and a large…was it an eyestalk? came out from the head. The arms, much too small for the body, were made of an old-fashioned egg beater and a plunger. It turned its head slowly, surveying the room before gliding smoothly forward.

One by one, people in the area started noticing the thing. At first, interest and confusion won out, but as it progressed through the office, snickers could be heard. While the remote controlled robot—it couldn't be anything else—had the potential to be menacing, it wasn't doing a very good job at the moment.

The panels were certainly created out of whatever the Doctor had managed to find. One was shrink wrap over mahogany, one looked like crushed soup cans, another was certainly a sheet of gold, and there was one Susan would swear was made of tinfoil. The head was made of the same brass metal as two of the panels, but one ear was a large Christmas light, and the eyestalk was plastic PVC pipe with a video camera lens as the eye itself. It was positively pathetic, but somehow so cute Susan wanted to take it home.

The robot continued to glide down the hall, unaware of the giggling humans. By now even Mr. Lessman had come out of his office, and was watching the thing in amusement. Susan was certain that had the robot been for anyone other than Penelope, he would have had it removed, but even Mr. Lessman risked upsetting his P.A. on occasion if it really ruffled her feathers.

The robot stopped in front of Penelope's closed office door and reached out with the egg-beater, tapping on the door three times before waiting patiently. A few seconds later the door swung open to reveal Penelope. She blinked at the thing as it extended its plunger. Resting on top was a pizza box.

In a metallic, grating voice, it very politely said, "COMPLIMENTS OF THE DOCTOR. HE REQUESTS THAT YOU RECONIDER HIS PROPOSAL."

Penelope closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as everyone unsuccessfully stifled a fresh round of laughter. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Susan raised her eyebrows and nodded, impressed. The Doctor had really managed to get a reaction from the woman, and only the second day. This was extremely promising.

Penelope turned to a nearby security guard. "Please have this thing removed." She stepped back into her office and shut the door quietly as the guard did as she requested. The robot looked incredibly pathetic and rather adorable as its eyestalk drooped in disappointment.

Susan had to send the Doctor a text. He'd not only gotten a reaction from her, but had also managed to put her off her schedule. This was the first time Susan could remember in her three years of working at _World Maps Inc._ that Penelope hadn't left for lunch.

But first to collect her winnings.

* * *

A few hours later, Penelope sat in her office, thinking as she stared at the small jewelry box on her desk. This particular…gift, had literally appeared on her desk a few minutes ago. No grand fanfare, no spectacular arrival, not even a noise. It had just appeared. Out of curiosity Penelope had opened it to reveal an earring and necklace set unlike any she'd ever seen.

The design was triangular in shape, and made of what looked like sterling silver except that it was extremely lightweight. There seemed to be a letter on it that reminded her simultaneously of a two and a Celtic knot. At the top of the triangle was a smooth round stone that was a swirl of purple and yellow.

This man—the Doctor Jones—was very confusing, and Penelope was both intrigued and annoyed at that. She liked things clean cut and understandable, and most people were, even those who considered themselves mysterious and unreadable.

She thought of what she did know about the man. He knew technology that was a certainty. Unless you were incredibly knowledgeable about computers and circuits you couldn't build holograms with no mirrors, boxes that faded in and out of reality, robots that delivered pizza, or make jewelry inexplicably appear.

Penelope nearly snickered remembering that ridiculous robot before collecting herself and re-boarding her train of thought.

He was old fashioned, or at least his clothes were, but he held some major sway among higher ups in Chicago. Without connections, he couldn't have had road construction suddenly decide to work on her route to the office. But if he was connected, why hadn't she heard of him? Or ever seen him before Monday evening?

Why was he so obsessed about Mr. Snow, and what gave him the idea that Mr. Snow was a Drast, whatever that was? The man was a recluse, not an alien. Though whatever had attacked her hadn't really seemed human. And then there was that stuff that had been all over her clothes. She'd discreetly sent it off to a lab and had them put a rush on it, getting the results in her e-mail. While all of the components seemed natural, none of them came from Earth.

This Doctor Jones was determined, though whether it was to embarrass her into helping him or seduce her into assisting his cause, she wasn't sure. The hologram and the robot thing were more embarrassing than intriguing, but the fading phone box and now the jewelry suggested he was just trying to get her help and not cause other problems.

Penelope made the decision to keep the jewelry, if only so she could return it in person on the certainty that the Doctor Jones would appear in her path again.

* * *

The Doctor's pocket let out a quick beep. He pulled out the modified GPS and looked at the small dot on it. Sounds of her car radio filtered through the speaker. It seemed as though she had taken the jewelry after all. Checking the street name, he decided that she had put it in after leaving the office. That was the only way to activate the nano-recorders he'd coated the earrings in. He suspected that the Drast would take another stab at Penelope Starling, and he wanted to be in on the conversation when it happened.

* * *

Penelope pulled into the lot near her apartment building. She locked her car, mentally going over what she needed to do tonight to be ready for tomorrow. Among other things, she still had some people to call in other time zones while it was appropriate.

She headed for the front door, her mind humming so busily that she nearly didn't hear the person behind her.

Turning swiftly, she was hard put not pull back in shock. The thing was nearly six feet tall, covered in blue armor with light showing through different chinks, and wearing a helmet shaped like a bird's head. Its proportions were a bit off, the body parts not quite fitting together.

"May I help you?" Penelope asked, the question automatic.

"Miss Penelope Starling," the thing said, its voice strangely low and whispery.

"I am she."

"I am one of the Drast."

"I've heard the name."

"I would speak with you in private."

Penelope looked at the huge, glowing man. It would be a little difficult to have a confidential chat with him. "Was there a particular meeting place you had in mind?"

The Drast was silent for a moment. "Your choice."

Penelope had to admire the way the Drast had simultaneously put the control and the problem in her court. Most would choose a place where they felt the safest and most confident. You could find out a lot doing that. Penelope stared coolly at the blue-plated creature. "No one is here at the moment. What was it you wanted?"

* * *

The Doctor watched the impromptu meeting, listening in with modified GPS. The information was certainly revealing. He decided that he would step up his act tomorrow to get on Penelope's good side. He could see he needed her help more than ever now.

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	5. Chapter 5

Friday morning began the way every other morning of her working life had begun. Penelope's sub-conscious mind had chewed on the Drast's business proposition all night, yet she was still debating the offer. It was certainly the most interesting—and tantalizing—offer she'd ever received. A chance to work directly for Mr. Snow. It was definitely a step up the proverbial ladder. More like a bound.

As she moved through her morning routine, she turned the thoughts through her head. The Drast and the Doctor Jones were on opposite sides of…something. Judging by the sudden interest in her and the Drast's choice of words, it was a business deal. Penelope was the deciding vote; whoever she chose to work with would win.

The Doctor Jones wanted the Drast gone. They were certainly not humans; the Doctor Jones had been telling the truth about that. Maybe he wasn't quite such a madman, and some of his other statements were true as well.

However, the Drast had come to her with a direct business proposal. They spoke her language. When she'd questioned the Drast last night about her near kidnapping, she was apologized to and told that they were not used to working with humans, and didn't realize she was a step above the others. Obvious flattery, but a true statement of course.

The Doctor wanted to find Mr. Snow. The Drast were willing to connect her directly to Mr. Snow. The Doctor wanted…he only wanted the Drast off the planet. The Drast wanted to try and fix the economy. After giving a brief outline of the plan, Penelope had to admit that they seemed to know what they were doing. Earth could be extremely profitable, and she had a chance to get in on the ground floor.

On the other hand, the Doctor Jones was obviously willing to go above and beyond to try and get on her good side, to impress her. The Drast had met her in secret after attempting to kidnap her. Still, the offer of working for Mr. Snow was very, very tempting. Going by that, the Doctor Jones' suspicions of Mr. Snow being a Drast seemed to be correct.

So, who to choose?

* * *

At nine o'clock exactly there was a tap at Mr. Lessman's door. It opened and a man with flowers came in.

"I have a delivery for a Penelope Starling. Comes with a card."

Mr. Lessman raised an eyebrow and looked at Penelope, who as always didn't react. She nodded towards the open connecting door that led into her own office. "Just set them on the table in there." She turned back to Mr. Lessman, ready to continue taking down the letter he was dictating.

A minute later there was another knock at Mr. Lessman's door. This time the floral bearer was a woman, from a different florist. "Delivery for Penelope Starling."

"Set them in my office."

Before the woman had done so two more delivery men came in, each with a different arrangement. Mr. Lessman would have found it more annoying if it wasn't for the obvious irritation Penelope was radiating. She calmly turned to Mr. Lessman.

"Excuse me sir."

She left without waiting for his approval, and Mr. Lessman couldn't resist following. He wasn't disappointed.

The whole office was full of flowers. Every floral shop in Chicago and the surrounding area was represented. Every delivery person had a different type of plant.

While the whole office was staring, giggling, and whispering, Penelope was as inscrutable as ever. With her usual calm she addressed the first delivery man, who as yet hadn't been able to make it out through the sea of people.

"Was there a return address with the delivery?"

"Yeah, corner of Wabash and Ontario, right next to the _Chicago Grills_."

Penelope turned a page on her notepad and wrote something down. "Then please have all these plants returned to the sender, following these instructions, and with the message at the bottom." She handed him the page.

The man raised his eyebrows at the written words. "You're sure miss?"

"Quite."

* * *

The Doctor looked up, puzzled by the knock on the TARDIS door. He opened it to see an army of people, each with a vase of flowers, every single one stripped of petals and leaves. The man who had knocked handed the Doctor a message.

_**Your turn.**_

The Doctor smiled broadly. At last, he was getting somewhere.

* * *

Penelope eyed the card on her desk. That had been left behind when the florists had left. It was still closed, but it'd been taunting her all morning. She glanced at her wall clock. Nearly noon. She could read it and then head to lunch. The Chicago traffic alone would help her ignore whatever plea the Doctor Jones had written.

Picking up the dark blue card, she flicked it open and blinked at the swirly silver writing.

_**You don't have allergies.**_

Penelope raised an eyebrow. Odd choice of message. Yet…it was one that she might have sent. A demonstration of knowing a personal detail that the sender oughtn't to know. Her message with the flowers had been a challenge she didn't really think he'd be able to rise to. Maybe he'd already been playing the game.

She wasn't able to keep her lip from trying to twitch into a smile. It'd been awhile.

A loud chopping sound interrupted her thoughts and she looked out her window to where it was coming from. Her eyebrows rose at the same time her door opened behind her. Several of her coworkers were choosing to view this new…attraction, through her window rather than the dozens of others on the floor.

It wasn't so much that the Doctor Jones had somehow managed to secure a helicopter, or that it had a screen on the side. It wasn't the fact that the screen was divided into fourths with his face on each section. It wasn't even the way he had recorded the same song several times so that he was providing his own backup. It was the song itself, an instantly recognizable tune with equally recognizable lyrics.

_I gave a letter to the postman, he put it his sack. _

_ Bright in early next morning, he brought my letter back. _

Elvis Presley's song, "Return to Sender" was being broadcast loud enough for half the city to hear, let alone the office building.

_ She wrote upon it: _

_ Return to sender, address unknown. _

_ No such number, no such zone. _

_ We had a quarrel, a lover's spat _

_ I write I'm sorry but my letter keeps coming back._

The snickers grew even louder behind Penelope. Some were laughing outright.

_So then I dropped it in the mailbox and sent it special D. _

_ Bright in early next morning it came right back to me. _

_ She wrote upon it: _

_ Return to sender, address unknown. _

_ No such number, no such zone._

Penelope opened her desk drawer and quietly produced a pair of earplugs, putting them in before reaching for the button to shut the blinds. Even the bits of foam in her ears didn't block out the cries of protest from her co-workers. They all wanted to see this.

_This time I'm gonna take it myself and put it right in her hand. _

_ And if it comes back the very next day then I'll understand the writing on it _

_ Return to sender, address unknown. _

_ No such person, no such zone._

Finally, the song was over. He'd certainly pushed the envelope on that one. How much money did the Doctor Jones have? First the florist barrage and now a singing helicopter? She shook her head lightly, taking out her earplugs, not failing to notice the bills being passed among the other staff. Susan must be having a field day. Penelope should never have let her borrow the car.

_You know I can be found, _

_ Sitting home all alone, _

_ If you can't come around, _

_ At least please telephone. _

_ Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

Penelope straightened, closed her eyes and took off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose. He wasn't. Oh, he was not! "Return to Sender" was more than enough. "Don't Be Cruel" wasn't going to have a chance.

She really hadn't wanted to do this, but the Doctor Jones hadn't given her any option. She picked up her desk phone and punched in a number.

"Chief of Police Garry McCarthy? Yes, this is Penelope Starling. I'd like to call in a favor."

The rest of the office staff instantly froze. They quickly turned and filed out, hissed whispers passing around the office like a malevolent ripple. Less than a minute later they were all sitting at their desks again, quietly working. Penelope ignored this expected response, continuing her call.

"I have a slight…issue, I need you to take care of for me. I need you to remove the helicopter from outside my office window. As soon as possible. Thank you. I'm sorry, could you please repeat that last statement? Yes, I'm keeping very close track. No. This only counts as one. You can put it down as 'disturbing the peace.'"

She hung up, the song's chorus ringing in her ears.

_Baby, if I made you mad _

_ For something I might have said, _

_ Please, let's forget the past, _

_ The future looks bright ahead, _

_ Don't be cruel to a heart that's true. _

_ I don't want no other love, _

_ Baby it's just you I'm thinking of._

Penelope calmly picked up her things and left for lunch. She'd barely had time to leave the building before the Chicago Police Department's official helicopter showed up.

* * *

The Doctor sat for a moment, thinking. He hadn't expected that at all. He'd been piloting the helicopter remotely from the safety of the TARDIS and she'd sent the police after him. He'd gotten a text from Susan saying that he'd actually managed to make Penelope use a favor on him, whatever that meant. What sort of person was owed things by the Police Department, the Doctor wondered.

Maybe he should have used a better choice of songs. But the ones that would have really worked hadn't been written yet. Had to be careful with things like that.

What next though? He needed something amazing, something absolutely brilliant and guaranteed to at least hold her attention.

Penelope Starling had seen a lot in her life. Displays of grandeur meant nothing. So maybe something that was grand on its own, without the extra bang.

* * *

Five minutes to quitting time. Mr. Lessman had actually already left, but not after telling Penelope that she really did need to speak to this new boyfriend of hers and tell him to stop. He was causing too much of a disruption, and the gambling in the workplace his antics had sparked was not acceptable. Penelope had wanted to tell her boss that this Doctor Jones was an idiot that she wished would leave her the hell alone, but that would not have been a controlled way of dealing with it. So she simply said she would take care of it.

There was a tap on her door frame followed by Susan's voice. "Penelope, you've got another gift."

"Keep it."

"Don't you want to know what's in it?" Susan's voice was vaguely cajoling.

"I don't much care what the box contains," Penelope answered as she started to gather her things. "It's likely another trinket meant to cause a distraction in my life. I would rather he cease sending things to or trying to contact me."

"Oh, come on. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Curiosity has never been an asset in my occupation." Penelope looked at Susan, who was effectively blocking the doorway. She saw the expression on the woman's face and gave a small sigh.

"Susan, if you are truly that inquisitive, you may open it."

Susan grinned mischievously and opened the small, flat box. Inside was a round disc. Looking at the inside of the box's lid, Susan read out, "Turn off lights. Close door, lower blinds. Place disc in room's center. Press once and watch. When finished click again."

Susan hurriedly obeyed. She pressed the disc and stepped back.

Instantly, the room was filled with planets and stars. They spun about the two women, real and solid as the walls and ceiling, which no longer seemed to be there. Susan stared with wide eyes, while Penelope struggled to keep the look of annoyed boredom on her face.

Idly she tapped a star near her. Instantly the swirl of light stopped and everything zoomed in on the point of brightness. A frame popped up next to the star, detailing its history, origin, size, age, and distance from Earth.

"Penelope," Susan suddenly said. "You have got to talk to this guy."

"Perhaps it's time I did," Penelope agreed. She gave the disc a quick tap and reopened her blinds. "Box it back up and leave it in my desk. When I have the chance I'll get it to NASA. Oh, and send the Doctor Jones a text to let him know that he needs to be at the North end of Buckingham Fountain by six thirty."

* * *

The Doctor was waiting, relieved. Finally! Taken him long enough. It'd taken him a lot of temporal jumping to set things up so that he could pull off everything he did today. Oh, the things he put himself through to save this tiny planet.

The Doctor glanced at his watch. Six twenty nine. Penelope would appear exactly at six thirty, like as not.

Half a minute later a hand tapped his shoulder. The Doctor turned and found himself looking at a police officer.

"Are you the Doctor?"

"That's what people call me, so it must be true. Do you need help?"

"No, but you'll need a lawyer. If you don't have one, one will be assigned to you."

"Come again?"

"Dr. Jones, I'm placing you under arrest for disturbing the peace, harassment, and stalking."

The Doctor stared open mouthed at the man before sighing. "Penelope Starling called you, didn't she?"

"Come with me sir."

The Doctor allowed himself to be escorted to the waiting police car.

* * *

Penelope watched the squad car leave before driving away herself. As much as she was glad that the Doctor Jones wouldn't be pestering her any longer, she had to admit one thing, if only to herself; she'd miss his antics, just a bit.

* * *

The Doctor sat in silence, but only managed to do so for a minute. "Haven't you missed something?"

"No."

"Don't you people usually read prisoners a list of rights or something? I thought those were in effect already."

"They are, and most of the time I do." The police man glanced at the Doctor in the rear view mirror. "Name's Kerrigan by the way. John Kerrigan."

"Right then Kerrigan, maybe you can say exactly why I'm under arrest then."

Officer Kerrigan's voice was full of self-depreciation and annoyance. "You aren't. Not really. You just picked the wrong girl to go after, buddy. Starling…Starling isn't big on having her schedule thrown, and you threw it."

"If I haven't been arrested—"

"Then why are you here? She called in one of her favors. Although, this one doesn't exactly count according to her, because we've been trying to find you since you pulled that stunt with the helicopter. You're supposed to clear things like that with the County first."

"I tried," the Doctor admitted. "They said they couldn't permit it."

"And you did it anyway?"

"I was trying to get a message across."

Officer Kerrigan snorted as he pulled into an empty parking lot and turned off the car. He turned to look at the Doctor. "Certainly worked. Look, Starling's basically sending you a warning with this. She wanted us to tell you that you need to let her alone. Otherwise, she'll get you on a one-way flight to Australia."

"Why Australia?"

"Yeah, I know you're probably not from there, but she says it's the next spot on her list to send a problem."

"Send a problem?"

"You aren't the first person to get under her skin. I think the last person ended up in Beijing. Just leave Starling alone. Get a hobby and leave her alone."

"Can't do that. I need her help with something."

Officer Kerrigan gave a harsh laugh. "You need her help? Buddy, I'll give you a piece of advice; never owe Penelope Starling anything. Once you get in her Black Book, you never get out."

"Black Book?"

"What, you thought she got where she was just on good looks and brains? Nah. The reason she is where she is, is because she makes sure all the right people owe her for something, and she only calls in her favors when she really needs it."

"Blackmail?" the Doctor exclaimed in surprise.

"Not quite," Officer Kerrigan answered. He sniffed and cleared his throat, trying to explain. "They're legitimate debts. In our case she usually alerts us to different drug dealers or where someone's hiding out. But she marks everything down someplace, and when she wants something done she calls it in, like having us personally give you this warning or getting us to send the copter after you so fast. That's part of the problem when she calls in favors; its stuff we can legally do, or at least put a legal label on, so we can't refuse."

"Why does she collect favors?"

"Beats me," Officer Kerrigan shrugged. "Some of the guys think she's going to call all the favors in at once and do a mass take-over of the state. I think she just likes the power. Half the people who know of her don't believe in the Black Book, but most everyone who knows her is actually in it. Probably ninety percent of the world's business big-wigs owe her something."

The Doctor sat and thought for a moment. Things were starting to make sense.

"Could you drop me of at _Uno Chicago Grill_?" the Doctor asked. "I'm sort of parked near there."

"Tomorrow," Officer Kerrigan said as he restarted the car. "Starling's arranged for you to have a 24-hour visit to the inside of a cell."

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	6. Chapter 6

Music from the canceled T.V. show _Firefly_ played throughout Penelope's suite as she stepped from the shower, completely content. It had been a perfectly relaxing Saturday. She'd slept until six, taken care of a few odds and ends for work, and then had a rare day for whims. Well, she'd had the salon appointment and the visit to the spa for a massage and a mud mask, but otherwise it had been a rare day for whims. It had only been improved by the knowledge that the Doctor Jones wouldn't be upsetting her schedule anymore.

Okay, he'd been persistent, had to give him that. And he'd certainly been clever about the way he did thing. But no. She had her own ideas about the Drast, and was fairly set on how she'd handle their offer. Because of this, she absolutely refused to listen to the ever so slight doubt that she'd done the wrong thing getting rid of the Doctor. Oh well.

Her music abruptly stopped. Penelope, still wrapped in her towel, went to her living room to start it up again. In the process she went past her kitchen.

Part of her wanted to call the police. The other, much larger part, gave into her first reaction.

In a single fluid motion, Penelope ripped off her wet towel and brought it down hard across the Doctor Jones' back like a whip. He let out a rather undignified yelp as he jumped sideways away from the stove where he'd been cooking. He turned to face Penelope but quickly averted his gaze when he saw she was now completely naked.

"What are you doing in my home?" she asked as calmly as if she'd been wearing her business clothes.

"I came to talk."

"How did you get in here?"

"Front door. Your security really isn't that good."

"In order to use my front door it takes two key codes and a retinal scan."

"Like I said: Not really that good. Could you put that back on?" the Doctor questioned, referring to Penelope's towel.

Penelope rewrapped herself, taking the excuse to think. She looked back at the Doctor, who was back in front of the stove.

"Dare I ask what you're cooking?"

"Isn't it typical for a business meeting to happen over a meal?"

"I asked what you were cooking, not why."

"Fish." He turned back around to face her, grinning as though he had invited her over rather than breaking into her house. "Now get dressed and we'll talk."

"You really aren't going to stop trying until you speak with me," Penelope stated.

The Doctor became serious. "No. I need your help to save the planet Penelope Starling."

Penelope was intrigued, but put on a face of resigned boredom. "Alright. You can have your say. But I want you to agree that when I refuse to help you, you will walk out my door and you will cease pestering me."

"If you turn me down, I will leave you alone. You have my word."

* * *

The Doctor was old; very, very old. He'd done a lot in his nine hundred plus years of travel. He'd faced planet eating creatures and world conquering aliens. He'd stared down the barrel of various forms of guns and the wrong end of multiple blade types. The Doctor had French-kissed Lady Death and survived too many times to count.

Business meetings put him on edge. No, he wasn't lacking in mental prowess, but business meetings were a bit different. He wasn't tricking someone; he was making an offer and hoping it would take. It wasn't unlike a marriage proposal, except that in this case the woman seemed perpetually annoyed at him.

Well, you were never too old to learn.

Penelope calmly walked into her dining room, wearing jeans and a black turtle neck sweater with elbow length sleeves, her short brown hair still damp but combed. She set a bowl of green apples on the table before sitting across from the Doctor. He raised an eyebrow at the bowl.

"You have a rather disturbing sense of humor Penny."

"My name is Penelope, Dr. Jones."

"And my name is the Doctor, not Dr. Jones." The Doctor pointed at her face. "You aren't wearing your glasses."

"No I'm not."

They stared at each other for a moment. "Any reason?"

"Yes."

Another moment. "And the reason is…"

"The glasses are part of the costume. The lenses are simply glass, but they add a layer of professionalism to my image." She folded her hands on the table in front of her steaming plate of mahi-mahi, white rice, and garlic mashed potatoes. "Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?"

"Oh, I've got a whole list, but I want to start with you."

"Pardon?"

"I'm figuring out why the Drast are so interested in you. I've got a few ideas, but I'm trying to put all the pieces together. Once I know why you're so important, I need your help to get to Mr. Snow and send the Drast back to their planet."

Penelope looked at the Doctor with cat-like eyes before smiling slightly. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt for the moment and not escort you a sanitarium. Where do you factor in this mess?"

"It's a hobby."

"What exactly does your hobby entail?"

The Doctor gave a half smile. "Protecting the planet."

"MI6? Or that other group, the one the UN created to defend the Earth from extra-terrestrials…UNIT, I believe it's called."

The Doctor stared at her for a second. "You are ridiculously well informed Penny."

"It serves my purpose, Dr. Jones."

"Your purpose?"

Penelope's invisible smile was almost taunting. "Yes. My purpose. Why are the Drast a concern to you?"

"They're trying to take over the planet and I need to stop them. I like Earth, very fond of it, and history demands that the human's still have control until…for a bit."

Penelope blinked, almost as if she'd recorded the sentence for later. "The Drast I've met don't seem to be trying to shoot people."

"That's not how the Drast work. They shape the economy until they completely control the planet."

"That would take decades, if not generations," Penelope said calmly. Both parties were completely ignoring their food as they talked. "I would have noticed if large, glowing bird men were encroaching on my world."

"They haven't gotten very far yet, which is why I need them out now."

The Doctor and Penelope regarded each other for a moment until Penelope spoke. "You aren't much of a business man Doctor."

"That's why I need your help Penelope."

"The reason I mention it, Dr. Jones, is because only an incompetent group of aliens, people, or anything else, would start an economic takeover in a country such as America. We don't offer a very good base for a monetary empire."

"What if they started somewhere else Penny?"

Penelope thought about that for a moment. "If they began in Japan, possibly Russia or in a pinch China, it's probable they would succeed."

"Say they started in Japan in 1999. How long would it take them to get up here?"

"Decades, if global economics stayed precisely where they were," Penelope answered immediately. "If I were the one attempting such a thing, I'd work my way up the map. There's no way they could be here yet."  
"Then why are they?" the Doctor challenged.

Penelope must have been thinking the same thing, because her reply was prompt. "They're taking advantage of the dip in the stock market and decrease of the dollar to set up a second base funded by Japan. America is still a world super-power in many ways; take it and everything else opens to you."

"Are you going to accept their offer?"

"What offer?"

"The one where you can work directly for Mr. Snow."

Penelope smiled and the Doctor knew he'd stepped into something. "I assume that the jewelry you gave me had some kind of transmitter in it?"

"Yeah."

"It would seem your theory about Mr. Snow being an alien is true then. Imagine you being right."

"It happens rather frequently," the Doctor defended himself. "Why would they want you specifically?"

Penelope shrugged, but it wasn't an 'I-don't-know' shrug. "Any number of reasons. You've no doubt researched me; I've spent the last ten years building a name for myself. I am, frankly, the most well connected human in Earth's business world. If you wanted to stage an economic takeover, you'd want me helping you rather than find you out and throw you out."

"Could you do that?"

"If I had enough information and knew where to apply the right amount of leverage, it's very possible."

The Doctor nodded. "Of course; your Black Book of Favors."

"It's yellow, if you want to know the truth."

"Yellow?"

"I hate yellow; far too silly a color. The color reminds me to be judicious when calling in favors. I must congratulate you Doctor; you're the first person I've had to use two favors on in a day." She picked up her wine glass and gave him a mock toast before taking a sip. She looked oddly at her glass.

"This isn't wine."

"You didn't have any. Horrible stuff for you anyway, destroys the brain cells."

"That's why I don't keep any in the suite."

"I noticed that in the search. I also found your hidden stash of See's Toffe-ettes in the back of the freezer."

"Anything else I need to know about my home?"

"You have a wad of hundred dollar bills in the ceramic cat, you don't have a safe, and you're one of the few people who have actually read all the books on their shelf."

Penelope regarded the Doctor for a moment. "Who are you, Doctor? In all reality, who are you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I need to know about the man with whom I might be making a business deal. I'm also debating whether to share something with you, but I need to know who you are first."

"I'm from a planet called Gallifrey. I'm nine hundred and eight years old. I travel around time and space in a small wooden Police Box that's bigger on the outside, saving planets and peoples but also trying—unsuccessfully—to not harm or kill anyone in the process. My name really is the Doctor. Nothing else, just the Doctor."

Penelope gave one of her cat-like blinks. "You're an old, brilliant alien who's a humanitarian and unsuccessful pacifist."

"You're good at turning a person into a single sentence."

"Thank you."

"I wasn't complimenting you, Penelope Starling."

A timer rang suddenly and the Doctor jumped up out of his seat and dashed to the kitchen. Penelope stood to see what he was doing.

With a clatter and a now-burnt hand, the Doctor produced a pie from the oven.

"You made a pie?"

"I used the frozen berries you had. That needs to sit for a bit before we can eat it."

For some reason, Penelope's calm gaze seemed a touch more human. She made a sound that might have been a laugh. "I'm not entirely certain whether you're the greatest simpleton I've ever met, or the only person I've truly found interesting."

She sat down at one of the counter seats and looked again at the Doctor. "What did you mean, it wasn't a compliment?"

"People are so much more than just a sentence, Penny," the Doctor said, sitting next to her. "Everyone's an amazing bundle of memories and potential and brilliance."

"You think that because of who I am I choose to ignore people."

"You use them. Everyone is weighed by how much they help you. Why is that?"

Penelope's smile was again secretive. "You're expecting me to tell you a story about a deprived childhood, one where I was beaten and learned that if I wanted anything I had to do it myself because no one would assist me." She shook her head. "Not true. My brother and I are quite close, and my niece and nephew adore me as much as I do them. My parents are incredibly proud of their youngest.

"In connection with my work, I strive to be the best I can be. I work better on my own, and I know that people never take to me. I won't force my company on anyone. I've also found that my life simply had no room for socializing unless absolutely necessary, such as when someone from a fellow company throws a party."

"You know what happens to people like you in stories."

Another sound that might have been a laugh. The Doctor was rather impressed with himself. He should have done this right at the beginning. "Doctor, I fully expect to be the lonely old spinster woman surrounded by cats when she's eighty nine. Though, I think I'd rather have dogs."

She paused and studied him again, somehow closer than she had the previous times. At last she stood and walked toward her door. The Doctor took the hint and followed her, stepping out into the hall.

He turned back when Penelope spoke. "Before you leave, Doctor, I will ask you this; whatever plans you might lay for next week, if you do anything on Monday I will have you shipped to Alaska in a wooden box. Are we clear?"

The Doctor looked at her sideways. "Would I still be breathing in this box?"

"Are we clear?"

"Very." He started to leave when Penelope again spoke up.

"The Drast didn't only want my help because of my contacts or the favors I have stored."

"Then why did they try to kidnap you when we first met?"

Penelope smiled again, more mischievous than secretive. "What they really need is for me to find Mr. Snow for them. They were bluffing when they offered me a chance to work with him. Mr. Snow is not a Drast, Doctor. I know the man."

She shut the door in his astonished face.

* * *

Penelope sat back on her couch to think. She'd drawn the Doctor into her confidence somewhat with that last statement. For better or for worse, she'd just chosen to ally herself with him rather than the Drast.

But who was he? His miniscule autobiography wasn't nearly enough for her.

"Nine hundred and eight," she mused to herself. "And with an obvious attachment to Earth."

Penelope stood and went to her bookshelf, her movements sure. Selecting a slender yellow book she reclaimed her seat, a cordless phone in her hand. Before opening the book, she punched in a number from memory.

"Garry McCarthy, Chief of Police? Yes, this is Penelope Starling again. I'm crossing off two more favors, but I need you to do something for me first. Head down to Wabash and Ontario and wait for the Doctor; he's still wearing the same outfit. Keep an eye on him for me. Second but first to do is impound a Police Public Call Box at the same place. It resembles a phone booth. Only release it to him when I give the all clear."

She hung up without waiting for a response. Opening the address book, she turned to the first page and entered the number. "Area 51? This is Penelope Starling, I need to speak with Director Streely." She waited few moments while her call was re-directed. "Mr. Streely, I want to call in my favor. I need any and all information you have on a man who goes by the name 'The Doctor.' I want it faxed to me immediately."

She hung up and flipped a few more pages before entering another number. "BBC? This is Penelope Starling. I need to speak to your Director General, George Entwistle." Again, a few seconds before she was re-directed. "Mr. Entwhistle, I realize this is an inconvenient time for you. However, I need to call in a favor. I've recently come across a man who calls himself 'the Doctor.' I want anything you have on him faxed to me immediately."

More pages turned. "CBS? This is Penelope Starling."

Penelope stayed up for several more hours. Her three fax machines and laser printer worked over time as she called in countless favors researching this crazy man who'd completely twisted her life.

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	7. Chapter 7

Monday. Penelope had spent all of Sunday setting up for this; nothing could go wrong or disturb today, nothing. She'd heard nothing from the Doctor, and knew that her message had gotten through his head on Saturday night. True, she'd only be around for a fraction of the time, but it was still her head if something went wrong.

The C.E.O.'s were gathering for their conference call with Mr. Snow. It was held in a sound-proof board room with several speaker phones on the table. If the lines were tapped or the room was bugged in any way, there was no telling what the man would do.

Though Mr. Snow had never allowed any assistants in the room, the past few meetings they all had to be out half an hour before the call came in. Once, a woman had stayed in almost until the call was made, and a recorder was found stuck under the lip of the table. Not good. The last Penelope had heard, the woman was a waitress at a local Denny's, and her boss was in some lower management position. Mr. Snow took privacy very, very seriously.

Penelope gave a slight smile. He had always been that way though.

She bit her tongue, refusing to laugh on such a serious topic. But the look on the Doctor's face when she told him she knew Mr. Snow! Oh, it had been beyond priceless.

She clipped into the board room, mentally naming all the C.E.O.'s and what they did. Mr. Green: Transport, goods, commercial, and private. Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Halverson: each in Clothing, though both with their own companies to run. The newest addition, Mr. Keri: Technology. There were six others, but Penelope was only concerned with Mr. Andrew Lessman at the moment.

She took a stand next to him and set down a heavy briefcase. "All the status reports of the current projects, a few future ideas for Mr. Snow to okay, the company calendar for the next year and a half, budget reports on every department and one on the company in general, shipping reports, and the other usual things. I typed out the notes from your lunch with the Director of NASA, in case you're asked."

"Thank you," Mr. Lessman said. He gave Penelope a look. "Your…friend won't be trying anything today, will he?"

"I took care of it sir. He won't disturb the meeting."

"Good."

The other secretaries started filtering out and Mr. Lessman nodded at Penelope. "If it doesn't destroy your schedule, you may as well take the day off. I don't know how long this will take, and afterwards I'm heading home anyway."

"Understood. Do I leave the car for you?"

"Yes."

"I shall do so. Good day sir, and good luck."

She was the last assistant to leave. Once she did, Penelope went down to her car and returned to her house. She had anticipated this, and planned her day accordingly. Penelope Starling have a completely empty day, with nothing scheduled? Not on your life.

* * *

Tuesday. Penelope took notice of the fact she'd met the Doctor a week ago, then dismissed it. He hadn't contacted her for two days; perhaps he was finally done. She didn't really believe that though. Not after her parting comment to him. No, today would be filled with more embarrassing happenings.

The expressions on her co-workers faces confirmed her worries. Something horrifying was waiting for her in her office, she just knew it. Penelope prepared to take it with the same calm as she did everything else.

8:03 precisely. She stepped through Mr. Lessman's door, his coffee in her hand. She paused as the doors closed behind her, then continued with her usual steps, setting down his drink before pulling out one of her Notebooks and opening it. She pulled out a report for Mr. Lessman and gave it to him.

"The analysis you wanted sir. I took the liberty of adding in a few of my own suggestions as a foot note."

Mr. Lessman took it from her, face solemn but eyes twinkling at the great joke. He gestured at the man sitting across from him. "Penelope, I believe you've already met Mr. Snow."

She gave the man a nod. "Sir."

The Doctor grinned at her. "Penny! Glad to meet you face to face finally. I was just chatting with your boss about the meeting yesterday." His look was exaggerated, and he was obviously enjoying this. "Would you be a dear and get me some tea? Two sugars."

Penelope would rather have thrown the impudent man out the window, but kept her face a mask. "Certainly sir."

As she stepped out the door, she could hear the Doctor talking to Mr. Lessman again. "I wonder if you would let me borrow your P.A. for a bit. I've got a few questions that she could answer for me…"

Penelope carefully ignored all the wide-eyed expressions of the other workers as she got the Doctor's tea. Silently, she planned a perfect revenge for this mockery.

She returned and handed the Doctor the tea. He set it down on the desk and stood, still giving her that grin. "You get to come with me for today Penelope. I need your help with something."

"As you wish, Mr. Snow," she said, her voice deceptively smooth. She turned to her boss, pulling a Notebook from her purse. "Mr. Lessman, as I will be unable to assist you today, here is the schedule. Susan should provide an adequate replacement for today."

Penelope followed the Doctor to the elevator. He had to be enjoying this.

The doors slid open and they stepped in. They closed with a ding and Penelope waited a full two floors before flipping one of the switches on the panel. The elevator came to an abrupt stop.

"What exactly are you trying to do?" she questioned, voice heated.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Don't you dare try to get out of this with riddles, Doctor," Penelope spat. "What do you gain by pretending to be Mr. Snow?"

"How do you know I'm not? Mr. Lessman certainly believed it. Apparently I sound just like Mr. Snow."

Penelope gave a short laugh. "Lessman accepts things far too readily. It's his only drawback, and that's why he has me."

"I was congratulating him on the profit increase _World Maps Inc_. has had in the past quarter, something mentioned at yesterday's meeting. As I said, how do you know I'm not Mr. Snow?"

"Because—" Penelope bit her lip, her frustration rising as the Doctor smiled at her.

"Because it's been you all along." He gave a slight bow. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Snow. I must say, I liked your trick with the voice changer. Accent and gender change, well done."

Penelope looked at him for a moment before blinking in her cat-like manner and calming herself. "I'm not the only one with secrets, Doctor. You should know full well that I am never unprepared or without contacts." She reached into her purse and produced a file folder, about a third of an inch full of paper. "I called in a few favors, John Smith, and discovered that you, Sir Doctor of TARDIS, are a rather nosy two-hearted alien with your time traveling blue box, Last Time Lord of Gallifrey."

Penelope flipped open the folder and started lifting up a few pages at a time. "Multiple faces, death and destruction show up wherever you are, you create and divert disaster, had humanity start a war with a race called the Silence, pick up attractive young women and travel with them for unknown periods of time, seem to have married a variety of famous people of both genders—"

The Doctor threw the switch to restart the elevator. "Let's find a coffee shop and talk."

"I don't drink coffee."

"Time you started."

* * *

When Penelope and the Doctor were safely at a corner table in a small coffee shop, the Doctor asked the most pertinent question.

"Why the charade?"

"I want to know how you found out first," Penelope said coolly.

The Doctor smiled. "I bugged your apartment while you were out on Sunday. I figured it would get me something. By the way, neat trick with impounding my TARDIS. I want it back."

"Not until I decide we're finished," she said. "I check for bugs regularly. I didn't find anything."

"I don't use Earth's recorders. Cheap toys compared to nano-technology."

Penelope gave him her equivalent to a look. "You literally bugged my apartment."

"With a cloud of several million microscopic robots." The Doctor leaned forward across the table. "Now. Why the charade?"

"I enjoy the privacy."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled in a disbelieving way. "The name 'Penelope Starling' isn't exactly anonymous."

"True, but Penelope Starling is a woman who fought to become the best at her job. She isn't a multi-billionaire with nearly a dozen companies to her name and partnerships with…I want to say twenty-six other franchises and organizations. When you have that sort of standing, the expectations placed on you are far higher and much different. I chose to avoid the add-ons by creating Mr. Snow." Penelope smiled slightly. "It also adds a touch of mystery to the whole thing, something I enjoy."

"Power over others?"

Penelope glared at him, the first real flash of emotion he'd ever seen from her. "I will forgive you that statement because you know no better. I am not a power hungry human, Doctor. I enjoy the challenge, the puzzle, the chaos that comes from living two lives."

"You like chaos?" the Doctor repeated, obviously not taking her word for it.

"I enjoy making sense out of chaos. Putting things in order is what I do, Doctor. I do it because I like it, not because I must." A spark came to her eyes. If the Doctor had to name it, he would have called it euphoria. Her voice however was its usual near monotone. "I enjoy the challenge of having two lives, of keeping my secret from the world, of running eleven companies while still serving as a magnificent P.A. to someone who is technically my employee. I enjoy the puzzle of being two separate people, of knowing things I shouldn't know and not revealing I know them. I don't do this for money, Doctor. I send most of Mr. Snow's earnings to people who truly need it. I don't care about the power; it simply adds to Mr. Snow's believability."

A trace of disgust crept into Penelope's voice. "If I wanted control and power, I would come forward with my secret, cash in my favors with governmental higher-ups and take over half the planet by the end of the week."

The Doctor pointed at her, and her expression showed that she also understood the true magnitude of her statement. "That's why the Drast need Penelope Starling to find Mr. Snow and work with him," the Doctor said. "Because he's already started the groundwork for an empire. Add in your yellow book—"

"Apply the mix to what the Drast have begun in Japan," Penelope put in.

"And you just saved yourself several generations and hundreds of years of work."

Penelope sat back in her chair. "It's absolutely brilliant."

The Doctor had to agree, but was more worried about what it would mean to future history and current Earth if the Drast were able to accomplish this. However, another question was pestering him.

"How did you do it so fast? The Drast would take decades to do what you did in one. In either of your lives!"

Penelope's smile was surprisingly visible. "The Drast must work in secret. I had the advantage of being able to be public about my missions. From there, it's simply smart business."

The Doctor nodded at the information, but his mind was already working on the real problem. "Penelope, you've obviously done some…incredibly in depth detective work on me. You probably found a few things that I haven't even done yet in my timeline, but you've certainly come across what I've been doing for a very long time. So, now that we're both sort of in the open, I need your help. I have to get rid of the Drast. If they're allowed to progress, there's no telling what could happen to the planet. Earth always stays under the control of Homo sapiens. Well, the Homo reptilia come back and have part-ownership, but that's another topic entirely."

"You mean the Silurians."

"Who did you _call_?" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Some people who knew some people. I wanted to be absolutely certain of who you were before I agreed to help you with something as big as you're suggesting. In the course of my research, I have re-evaluated your character analysis."

Penelope folded her hands in front of her on the table and looked the Doctor in the eye. "You're an old man. A very tired old man running from what he's done and towards what he can do. You are both thoroughly brilliant and entirely mad. You've seen far too much and experienced enough to crush other men, yet you can't get enough of life."

Penelope gave the Doctor a nod. He felt oddly respected for a moment.

"Yes Doctor. I will help you."

A small chirp came from her phone and she took it out of her purse. "What is it?" the Doctor asked.

"A message from my Drast contact." Penelope looked up at the Doctor. "It seems I've just been asked to a meeting on their ship."

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	8. Chapter 8

"When is it?" the Doctor asked.

"This evening at seven. Apparently I'll be…picked up from wherever I happen to be at the time."

"Can you bring someone else?"

Penelope re-read the message. "It has nothing against it, though my assumption would be that it is not encouraged."

"Ask if you can bring someone."

Penelope blinked at the Doctor. "Are you certain that's wise?"

"Nothing I do is really wise. Just ask."

Penelope sent the message before setting her phone down. "Now that I have agreed to assist you Doctor, what exactly do you need me to do?"

"At first I was going to use you to help me find Mr. Snow, but now that we've found him, I need you to play the part of my P.A. and help me conduct a business meeting. And possibly tell the Drast who you really are."

"I will readily agree to the first. The second is out of the question." Penelope thought for a moment. "Your eventual goal is to remove the Drast from Earth's economy, correct?"

"Yes. They can't be here."

Penelope's phone chirped. She read the new message and answered it, still speaking to the Doctor.

"I'm sure they've heard of you, Time Lord. Your name alone should be enough to remove them."

The Doctor smiled slightly. "It would be if the rest of the Time Lords were around to back me up. Just the one? No, that won't do so much."

"Then why not simply inform them that I have ways of turning the business world, and the defensive capabilities of Earth, against them if they persist, and that when I call in my favors is completely up to you? Rather than you being the one 'backed up,' you are the authority behind my threats. The Penelope Starling with the help of the Doctor. It should be enough to frighten them into leaving."

The Doctor pointed at her. "I knew there was a reason I needed your help."

"You need my help in many more ways, but we'll start with this."

Her phone signaled a reply and she read it. Penelope smiled oh-so-lightly before putting it back in her purse. "I've been granted permission to bring an assistant. Fortunately, I know a man who will fit the description rather well."

"Hang on, I wanted you to ask so I could go!"

"And you are, Michael Jones."

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest then closed it. "What exactly are you planning, Penelope?"

"You need to learn that the timing in business deals is slightly different from the timing in planet-saving missions, as is the picture you must set up from the beginning." Penelope sipped her water. "I'll see you at my home at six fifty-five tonight. I need you in a real suit, not your current ensemble. No bow-ties."

"I like bow-ties. Bow-ties are cool."

"If you come with a bow-tie I will burn it while it's still on you," Penelope said, pulling out a yellow legal pad. She studied the Doctor, sketching his face quickly. "I need you, as Mr. Snow, to go back to Mr. Lessman. Tell him you've sent me on a few errands, and then continue in your role. Remember to create a plausible story for my absence. Something slightly ridiculous and embarrassing will go over well with Mr. Lessman. Just keep it…small. I'm sure you can handle that."

She started to stand. "And what are you going to be doing?" the Doctor questioned. Penelope blinked at him.

"My job. I'll see you at six fifty-five."

* * *

The Doctor was there at six fifty-five exactly. He checked several times, had been outside the door four minutes ahead of time so as not to irk his newest friend. So he was rather surprised when, upon knocking, the door opened and a rather irate—or as irate as she would show—Penelope was standing there.

"I said six fifty-five, and it is clearly six fifty-six." She turned from him and walked back in to her suite, the Doctor trailing behind and trying to understand why she was wearing a short black dress rather than her usual suit. "I expect promptness, Michael Jones. If you want this job, you must learn it."

"I was on time," the Doctor protested.

"Back talk isn't acceptable either," Penelope snipped at him, picking up several things from her coffee table and handing them to the Doctor.

"BlackBerry, pager, notebook, and two planners—one for yourself and one for my life. I've already entered several numbers into the BlackBerry, and I expect you to buy and use a different phone for what personal life you manage to create. Keep in mind that this new position comes before any women or men with which you decide to spend your nights."

"Back up," the Doctor interrupted. "What's all this for?"

Penelope sighed. "You don't move as fast as I thought you would, Doctor." She picked up a small oval case from the table. "The Drast gave me permission to bring an assistant. You need to know how to play the part, including…" Taking a set of thin rectangular glasses from the case she put them on the Doctor's face. "…the touch of professionalism. Thank you for leaving the bowtie behind."

Penelope looked the Doctor up and down, scrutinizing him. "Don't look quite so panicked. I would never hire someone green, so pretend you've been at this job for a while. Stay about two paces behind me at all times, if I tell you to write something down you do so. I've written and numbered several questions that fit the situation. Don't remind me of them out of order. If you need something clarified, try to phrase it well and ask them more often than me. Otherwise, stay silent until I introduce you as you really are."

She studied him for another moment. "Hold there," Penelope said before disappearing. She came back a few seconds later and sprayed something on the Doctor. He coughed at the strong smell.

"What is that?"

"Axe, also known as perfume for men. Get used to it; someone with your job would wear it."

She looked at the thin silver watch on her left wrist. "One minute." Penelope looked back at the still slightly dazed Doctor. "What did you tell Mr. Lessman?"

"I went with the story everyone else has invented and said I've been avidly pursuing you as a romantic interest."

Penelope stared at him with an open mouth before covering her eyes. "I will never live this week down. Never."

To the Doctor's surprise, she then smiled at him. "However, I think one week of insanity in my life is permissible."

"I'm shocked."

"So am I."

She picked up a small black purse that went with the dress she had on, taking a deep breath. "Here we go."

At seven o'clock exactly, the energy transport activated, taking both Penelope and the Doctor to the Drast ship.

* * *

Penelope reeled slightly when they arrived and the Doctor reached out to help steady her. She gave him the evil eye and then turned away primly, not saying a word. A Drast stepped forward and Penelope walked to meet him. Or her. Or it. It was hard to tell under the armor.

"I'm here for a meeting with your superior. I brought along my assistant, Michael Jones, to take the required notes."

"We have been waiting, Miss Starling," the Drast said with a nod. "Please, follow me."

Penelope didn't bother to see if the Doctor was behind her as she walked with the Drast. The Doctor managed to keep in character, but only just. His mind was humming with all sorts of comments and questions that he would ordinarily ask. However, he bit his tongue and kept walking. After all, this was business.

The Drast led them to a set of double doors and opened them before standing to the side. Penelope walked in with her usual poise, but it certainly wasn't what the Doctor had expected.

Instead of a Drast in a big chair (the man in charge always had the biggest chair), Penelope and the Doctor had been shown to a board room. There were already eleven others sitting around the table. They all seemed surprised.

"Penelope? What are you doing here?"

She looked coolly at Mr. Andrew Lessman. "I was invited, Mr. Lessman. I assume you are here for the same reason."

"Yes, but—" His eyes narrowed as he saw the Doctor, though more out of confusion than suspicion. "And he is here because…"

Penelope didn't even bat an eye. "He works for me, and no, he is not Mr. Snow."

"Then what—?"

"You don't need to know, Mr. Lessman, so cease questioning me." She sat down and the Doctor took a seat next to her. As usual, she wasn't showing anything but the Doctor would have bet anything that she'd wanted to say that since her first day working for Mr. Lessman.

"I notice that the rest of Mr. Snow's entourage is in attendance," Penelope commented. The Doctor guessed that it was partially for his benefit.

Mr. Lessman nodded. "Yes. We all got a message just as we were leaving work that an issue concerning Mr. Snow came up. Wasn't expecting the science fiction." He looked askance at Penelope. "You wouldn't have anything to do with this."

"Mr. Lessman, in the many years I have worked with you, have I ever revealed anything about myself to you?"

"No."

"Then why do you expect me to do so now?"

The Doctor hid a smile at Mr. Lessman's slightly terrified expression as Penelope turned away from him. The Doctor got the feeling that Andrew Lessman was finally seeing the woman he'd hired for who she was.

The double doors opened again and three Drast walked in. All murmurs around the table stopped as people turned to listen.

"We thank you all for attending this meeting," the lead Drast said in their strange, whispery tones. "Around this table is every C.E.O. with a connection to the illusive Mr. Snow. The only exceptions to this statement are Miss Penelope Starling and her assistant, Michael Jones." The Drast turned in Penelope's direction.

"Miss Starling, when we first approached you it was with the intention of forcing you to find Mr. Snow for us."

"You implied that I would be working directly for him the last time we spoke."

"That statement was not entirely false. It is, in fact, the real reason you have been included in this briefing."

The Drast slowly looked at the men and women gathered around the table.

"None of you have ever seen the powerful man for whom you work. You have seen evidence of the man, but have never truly met him."

The Doctor glanced at Penelope. Her face showed nothing, but she'd arched her neck the slightest bit.

"We know this," a man down near the end of the table called out. "After all, we do work for him. And what if we never have seen him? You said yourself that there's evidence of his existence. Several of us have our jobs because the person who had the position last crossed the man."

"We do not doubt the validity of Mr. Snow," the Drast said. "In fact, we have him here tonight. It is time you all met the person you have worked for these past years."

The Doctor saw Penelope blanch as the Drast gestured.

"I present to you all, your master; the one and only Mr. Snow."

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't believe it!"

"That's impossible!"

"There's no way that can be true."

The Drast raised a hand against the protests. "I assure you, it is."

Stepping behind the gurney bearing the cheap coffin displaying the skeleton, the Drast began to explain.

"Mr. Snow was never real. He was a cover for another person. This man is all that is left of the DNA match, the façade, for the person pretending to be Mr. Snow."

"Then who's been making the calls, arranging the meetings and mergers?" the same protester from before spoke out.

"That is…unknown." The Drast sped up a tad to beat the next protests. "However, this person has obviously done a few illegal things to become Mr. Snow, and I am certain that they have no wish to come into the open." Again, the Drast scanned the room.

"As such, we have a proposal for all of you." He paused for effect. The Doctor was starting to understand what Penelope had meant about timing in business meetings.

"Each of you runs your own company; you are obviously well suited to your positions. We wish to help you break out of Mr. Snow's hold, to release you to run your holdings as you see fit, with no outside interference. We have the first half of his secret; the rest of his identity will not be long in coming. Your master will be revealed not only to you, but his past indiscretions to the rest of the business world."

"And our end of the deal?"

The Drast focused his gaze on Penelope. "Miss Starling, you were asked here for a different purpose from these others. We would ask you to step into the role of Mr. Snow, but not to act as he did. You would simply act as a courier between these business men and women and us, a…manager who would work with a hands-off approach. The Drast have wish to invest in this area of the world, but only with those who truly do the work, not a faceless name who will see no one."

Penelope blinked calmly. "Would you not, then, be taking on the role of Mr. Snow? A leader that we would never see?"

"We have no wish to lead you. Only to invest and see those investments returned."

The Drast turned back to the gathering of C.E.O.s. "What do you all think of our proposition? Do you wish to stay under the command of a man you have never seen?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Mr. Lessman spoke. "I think what you're saying sounds fair. But I, personally, have one question; how do we know that you really _wouldn't_ take Mr. Snow's place?"

"We are already busy with our own holdings in Japan; America holds minimal, if any, interest for us."

The Drast gave a small nod. "We will leave you to discuss it among yourselves."

As soon as the door closed, the Doctor motioned to Penelope and the moved a little ways from the table.

"Expecting this?" he asked.

"Not in the least. How do you usually convince people that aliens are trying to take over their planet?"

"Usually it's obvious; I've never had to convince a bunch of suits that their ticket to running their own places is a trap for future generations."

"Doctor, you have to think of something to say. Unless we confront the Drast when they return, and get them to confess somehow, we have nothing."

The Doctor locked eyes with Penelope. "Penelope, you've got to tell them."

"No!"

"Then at least tell me who that poor soul in the coffin is."

Penelope sighed. "His name is John Carter. He's a homeless man that used to come near our home in Colorado. Wonderful man, very kind, marvelous conversationalist. He died—of perfectly natural causes—near the same time I was debating buying that first failing company. Things sort of fell together from there. He was already a dead, nameless man. It wasn't difficult to get a sample of his blood before our family gave him a burial. Frankly, I'm rather upset that they pulled him from his grave just to parade him before a pack of…money hungry business people."

The Doctor sighed. "Do you have any other brilliant plans? We have to stop these Drast, but if they make this deal with your employees, it's going to be even harder to get rid of them."

The double doors opened and the Drast re-entered as Penelope and the Doctor returned to the table. The lead Drast spoke again.

"You have considered our offer."

"And we agree," the loud man called out. The Doctor knew that the Drast had to be smiling behind their masks as they turned to Penelope.

"We shall make the necessary arrangements with you for your new position."

Penelope sat quietly for a moment before standing very slowly, but very gracefully. The Doctor could see her nerves, silently willing her on.

"Why, pray tell would I accept a position that I already occupy?"

"What do you mean?" The whispery voice seemed to grow a little more like a hiss. Penelope held her head high, meeting the Drast's gaze.

"I am Mr. Snow, and I am appalled that you think I would let you steal my people."

The entire room was silent. Penelope slowly removed her glasses. The Doctor could see her mind spinning for the right words.

"I have been watching the Drast very, very closely. I have been tracking your progress in Japan, and I allowed you to stay there because I saw a future use for you. However, my assistant helped bring your…appearance, your intrusion into America to my attention. I introduced you to him as Michael Jones because it suited me. I am certain that the Drast have all met him under his true name; the Doctor, Time Lord."

"Penelope, you need to explain," Mr. Lessman said, his tone serious. Penelope looked down at him.

"Lessman, I wish you to remember that I need never explain anything to you. I accepted the position as your P.A. because it suited my needs as Mr. Snow. I had a direct contact with my companies while staying perfectly silent about my identity." She scanned the room. "I expect all of you to respect that. I have held my secret for a long time, and you will all say nothing of this. Frankly, I wanted none of you here, but one must work with what one receives."

Penelope's eyes nearly skewered one woman about to speak. "Mrs. Reynolds, I chose each of you for your extraordinary skills at your jobs and your intelligence. I am certain that each of you could easily understand how I am both Penelope Starling and Mr. Snow." She tilted her head slightly. "Or was I wrong?"

Without waiting for an answer, Penelope looked back to the Drast. "As I said, I have allowed you to do business on my planet and create a space for yourself in my domain. I will not tolerate your intrusion into my personal realm. As the Doctor works for me at the moment, and as I have unlimited favors and resources to call upon, I trust that you will not think my next offer to be a vain one.

"I give you five hours, starting now, to turn your companies over to your human counterparts and leave this planet. I will no longer allow you to do business here. I have my own plans for this world, and they do not concern you. If you leave within the timeframe given, I won't destroy your pitiful kingdom and you along with it."

Everyone in the room saw the Drast and the Penelope Starling wage a war of wills, but it soon ended.

"We accept your offer, Penelope Starling. We shall return you and your people to the planet's surface, and withdraw."

* * *

Penelope and the Doctor were returned to the street outside her apartment. They stood silently for a moment, traffic rushing past, before she turned to him.

"Did I really just do that?"

"Yeah. Well done too. Very threatening. Didn't like the part where I worked for you, but I suppose it worked in the end."

"You didn't ask me to be entirely truthful; you simply asked for my help to get rid of them." Penelope seemed a bit breathless. "That was the most nerve-wracking moment of my life."

The Doctor grinned at her. "But you're smiling Penny."

"I suppose I am." Penelope laughed and leaned against the nearby wall. "This is going to wreak havoc in my life. They aren't going to be able to keep their mouths shut. I'll have to find a way to reveal the Mr. Snow charade very soon. Maybe I could gain back a few favors in the process. Finding out about you took far too many."

"You're still smiling."

"And so I am, Doctor," she announced. "I think I need to return you to your box now. I'll drive you to the impound."

* * *

Even at eight, Penelope was given access to where the Doctor's TARDIS was held. He immediately went over to it and starting talking.

"Here you are old girl. Didn't hurt you, did they? No scratches, you seem fine." Fishing in his pocket, the Doctor produced his key and opened the door, but turned around to face Penelope.

"You know, you don't have to go right back to it all. You just saved a planet." He smiled at her. "Care to go someplace? Anywhere you want."

Penelope looked at him thoughtfully. "You asked for my help with this matter, correct?"

"Yes, and?"

"I assisted you, with minimal—if any—input from you, am I right?"

The Doctor didn't like where this was going, but nodded. Penelope smiled again.

"In that case, I did you a favor, which means that you owe me a favor."

"Did I mention that I can go anywhere you want?" the Doctor impressed. "And any when. I could have you back in your apartment five minutes ago after showing you the pyramids while they're being built."

"No Doctor. You owe me."

"There isn't a famous dead person I could introduce you to? Or a current one! Famous person, not dead person. Cleopatra maybe. Or Winston Churchill."

"No Doctor," Penelope said, humor lacing her tone. "You owe me. I have your number; you sent me text messages. When I decide to call it in, I expect you to come. Until then, I wish you happy travels. I have enjoyed knowing you."

She turned and walked away. The Doctor stared after her for a moment before hurriedly closing the door behind him and starting up the engines.

He had to get in some adventures before Penelope Starling found a good reason to need his help.

* * *

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*

The End.


End file.
